Chapter Thirty-Five
R io sat half his butt onto a barstool in the hotel lounge, and stretched out a leg to leave one foot on the floor. Without appearing to search for anyone, he had a look around.
One of the nicest hotels in San Antonio, the Magnolia Inn was eight stories high, featured two restaurants, the bar, two pools, three conference halls, and a few hundred guest rooms. In the early evening, the place was busy with patrons enjoying a pre-meal drink, checking in at registration, and coming and going from their rooms.
An old establishment, it was built in the Spanish Colonial Revival style, with soaring arches and heavy iron lanterns. Giant potted palms against the walls sprouted from huge ceramic containers. The ceilings were cathedral-high. Flickering torches on rough-textured walls gave the feel of ancient Spain.
On the lounge stage, a hot Latina in a thigh-slitted sparkling dress crooned a love song, her legs sexily crossed. Behind her, an accompanying guitarist strummed away. As she sang, she caressed the microphone.
From the bartender, Rio ordered plain iced tea. “Put it in a highball glass. Lots of ice.” When the drink arrived, he casually held it to his chest as though it were straight whiskey. Taking Becca’s phone from his pocket, he again made sure her number was blocked and placed a call. “I’m in the hotel lounge,” he told Harrison. “Come on down, have a drink.”
As expected, he got an argument.
“Lang, I need you up here, in my room. I’ve got sensitive documentation to show you for the contract. I can’t bring that out of my room. Just come up. You’ve got the girl, Rebecca, right?”
“Aw, c’mon,” Rio said. “We’ve never met before. Let’s have a drink. I’ll go up to your room and see your papers after that. What do you want? I’ll order it.”
“No, you need to—”
“Bartender,” Rio raised his voice at the worker behind the bar, “another one of these.” He raised his glass. Into the receiver, he said, “Come on down. One drink. There’s a hot chick, a lounge singer. She’s sexy as fuck. You’ll like her. I’ll wait.” And he hung up.
In a careful perusal of the room, he thought about the job waiting for him. He sure needed the work.
All seemed normal, with people chatting, moving around the hotel, going about their business. He liked the reassuring weight of his pistol sitting in his waistband.
Moments later, a bald, tall, overweight man approached. His skin was pocked, with the sallow hue of a person who was not particularly healthy. With a singular purpose, he walked toward Rio. His eyes were dark, bloodshot, and cold.
Harrison.
For a brief moment, a wispy memory slid through Rio’s mind. Had he seen this man before? He couldn’t place him, couldn’t remember where.
“Lang.” Harrison sat heavily on the next barstool. “Only one drink.” He signaled to the bartender for gin. “Where’s the girl?”
“Chill out, man.” Rio studied the other. “She’s in the ladies room.” The familiar voice was the one he’d heard over the telephone many times when he’d been awarded Black Eagle contracts. Now, he could put a face to the man.
On the stage, the singer worked her way to the middle of her number, her voice growing in volume. She sang of lost love, of heartbreak, and the dangerous emotion of a lover spurned.
When Harrison’s drink arrived, he downed it in three gulps. Getting off his stool, he gestured sharply at Rio. “Let’s go. Get Rebecca.”
“In a minute.” Rio swigged his own drink. Casually, he looked around. Ben Paxton’s men should be in position by now but he didn’t see anyone. Catching the bartender’s eye, he raised two fingers and pointed at his and Harrison’s glasses. The man nodded.
“Listen, I’m flying out tonight.” Harrison remained standing. Impatience underlined his words. “I have an important contract for you. A lotta money. You said you need it. Right, Lang? The details are in my room. Names. Dates. Locations that you’ll need. We’re going. Now.”
On stage, the singer belted out her number, her voice rising. Her vibrato echoed off the stone walls in soaring notes. The torches seemed to flame brighter.
“Sure thing. Lemme finish this.” Holding his drink, he pointed at the singer. “She’s good, huh?” He glanced around again. Where were Paxton’s men? They should make their move. Now.
The woman on stage allowed her voice to rise and it drowned out all other sounds.
Suddenly, in a subtle, efficient move Rio hadn’t anticipated, Harrison pulled a Beretta pistol from his coat. Beneath the bar top, and out of sight of anyone observing, he shoved it hard into Rio’s side.
The barrel crammed right into Rio’s injury. Pain burst through his system. He doubled over in agony. Harrison couldn’t have known about his gunshot, could he? Was it pure luck that he’d hit the weak spot? He felt part of the newly-healed skin tear open.
Beneath waves of pain, the truth flooded his mind. So, he’d been right: he’d become a liability to Harrison, and by extension, to Black Eagle. Now, Harrison planned to punch his ticket.
Where the hell was Paxton?
“Think you’re going to mess up my plans?” the other hissed in his ear. “Those young girls and drugs funneling through De Monte’s warehouse are funding the senate campaign nicely. We need that money to win.”
Rio drew in enough air to wheeze, “That’s your operation?” He wasn’t surprised. He’d figured on some sort of connection, but damn . Rio wasn’t really the one who’d gone rogue. The one who’d turned to the dark side was Harrison, with money at the root of his drive. Big shock.
Still bent over, he grimaced and hunted around the lounge for the help that should be there. Sweating, he struggled to breathe. The pain was debilitating. He could barely keep his seat on the stool.
Gripping Rio’s arm, Harrison muttered, “Hold your hands in front of you where I can see ’em. If they leave my sight even for a second, you’re dead. Got that? I’ll come back later to get the girl. You’re coming with me. Get up.”
****
M aking sure her hair was completely tucked up inside the beige bucket hat she’d pulled onto her head, Becca slipped inside the elegant hotel and tried to act like a normal guest. She wore black jeans and a long white sweater over a white camisole. The sweater opened at the front and hung nearly to her knees.
Rio’s behavior had been so strange she hadn’t even tried to resist the urge to follow him. What in the world was he doing at the Magnolia Inn? She sensed it had something to do with her miserable situation. If so, she should be part of it. If he thought she’d stay home fussing like a ninny over a chicken dinner, he was mistaken. She stiffened her spine. Besides, maybe she could help.
Setting her open-top hobo bag onto the end of the registration desk, she smiled and shook her head at an approaching receptionist and pretended to be searching for something. The receptionist returned the smile and moved away. In Becca’s purse, her fingers absently brushed over her wallet, tissues, and makeup containers. As she did, she cast surreptitious glances around the lobby.
In her second pass, she spotted him in the adjacent lounge. A singer on stage in a sequin gown wailed away. Rio perched on a barstool, leaning awkwardly to one side. A man she didn’t know stood close beside him and held his arm.
Instantly she sensed something had gone wrong.
Who was that strange man? And why was Rio’s body canted to his side like he was favoring his healing wound? Had he somehow re-injured himself? He was in trouble, she just knew it.
Hotel employees scurried by, carrying trays and going about their business. Guests milled. Nothing else seemed amiss.
The man kept his grip on Rio’s arm and appeared to be urging him to stand up. Rio’s features were screwed up tight. She knew immediately he was fighting tremendous pain.
To others observing, little might indicate impending danger. But she knew about Rio’s injury, and now he seemed to be favoring it. She could tell the other man’s grip was not friendly. He had a coat draped over his arm and she couldn’t see his hand. This didn’t look good.
Like a blinding flood of lights in a dark room, panic lit her brain.
She had to do something. But what?
In the mountains, Rio had taught her a few survival skills. She tried to recall them now. When in trouble, he’d said, adopt an offensive mindset. Transition from defensive to offensive mindset is essential.
Casting her gaze about, she saw waiters, a broad reception desk, potted plants—nothing to use as a weapon. Yet she needed to go on the offensive. She needed something!
What are your strengths , he’d asked her at the time. What can you use? Think!
And then he’d cupped her breasts. These are weapons, honey, never doubt it. Your confidence makes you wildly hot.
And all at once, she knew.
Pulling off her hat, she shoved it into her bag and shook out her long hair so it spread around her shoulders in all its thick glory. Shrugging out of her long sweater, she left only her fitted camisole. With her arms bare, the tiny top revealed her small waist and the rounded rising of her full breasts. She draped the sweater and hobo bag over her arm, making sure her chest was on full display.
Pasting on a smile, she threw back her head and told herself in a repeated mantra, I’m sexy. I’m hot. Men want me. In order for this to work, she had to believe it. Sexual confidence is wildly sexy , Rio had told her.
Walking in a swaying strut, she struck out for the two men, strolling with confidence.
****
“T here you are,” Becca trilled at Rio. “You’re not going anywhere, are you? I thought we were having a drink.” In her last couple of steps, her breasts bounced.
Shit! Rio grimaced. She must have followed him to the hotel. Her presence now made his task exponentially more challenging. Damn. It was difficult to think over the searing pain in his side.
The other man half-turned to her. His scowl eased. “Rebecca De Monte? How nice. Rio was just telling me about you. He and I are old friends.”
“ Becca .” Rio said her name in a low and husky warning. Past her shoulder, he spotted two men staring at them suddenly start their way. Finally! Paxton had at last sent them in.
Yet, now with Becca unexpectedly in the line of fire, he couldn’t allow it.
At his side away from Harrison, he clenched his fist, the signal to stop. Seeing his sign, the team veered off. He had to get rid of her. “Becca, you need to g—”
“You never told me about meeting a friend here,” Becca said to Rio, smiling seductively at the older man. Perching herself onto the next barstool, she crossed her arms over her lap, causing her breasts to lift and swell over her top. Her nipples stood out against the top’s thin fabric. “I thought we were just here for a little drinky poo.”
What the hell is she doing? Rio groaned.
Predictably, Harrison’s gaze fell to her deep cleavage.
Fishing a single ice cube from Rio’s drink, she drew it across her neck and down to the tops of her breasts. Water beaded on her smooth skin. “Is it hot in here? I swear, sometimes I get so overheated.” She giggled.
The older man’s dark eyes lit in appreciation. He grinned, showing all his teeth.
As though suddenly noticing Rio’s slouch, she asked, “Something wrong?” Like a woman who couldn’t bear to stop touching herself, she trailed languid fingers over her chest. Idly, she glanced again at Rio. “Are you feeling well?”
The other man spoke up. “Rio’s a little tired. We’re headed to my room so he can rest, catch up, and have a couple of drinks. It’s too loud in here. You’ll join us, of course.”
“Sure, I’ll join you.” She giggled again, a brainless female. “A private room sounds so much nicer than a public bar. If you’re Rio’s friend, then I can be your friend, too. But I didn’t catch your name?”
“Harrison,” he said.
Rio sent her a hard glance and gave a slight shake of his head. Gruffly, he told her, “Harrison and I have business. Private stuff. Go back home.”
“Nonsense.” Harrison tightened his grip on Rio’s arm.
He pushed the barrel of his Beretta deeper into Rio’s side. A new pain shot through him and he grunted. For long seconds, his brain went black.
“She’ll go with us.” Harrison leaned in and whispered to Rio, “Remember, keep those hands out front or she’ll get it.” Pulling Rio to his feet, he moved toward a bank of elevators. To anyone watching, Harrison appeared to be helping a drunk friend to his room. Becca slid off her stool and walked on Rio’s opposite side.
“This will be a cozy party,” Becca said, as though they were headed for a ménage a trois . Tugging her camisole top lower, leaving her breasts nearly bare, she leaned past Rio and gave the older man an impudent grin. When he boldly viewed what she offered, she smiled into his eyes. Taking advantage of his distraction, she slipped her arm across Rio’s back.
He knew instantly that she felt something sticky on his waist, his blood. His wound had reopened, begun to soak through his t-shirt, but not yet through his open button-down shirt.
He felt her fingers trace the outlines of his pistol.
Rio caught her gaze and held it. Take the gun , he tried to communicate silently. Had she gotten the message?
Harrison yanked Rio away from her and closer to him. “Don’t worry, I’ve got him. He’ll feel better once we get to my room.”
She smiled in agreement. “Do you have vodka up there?”
“You bet, honey.” His eyes glittered, and dropped again to her chest. She curled a lock of her hair around a finger and gave him a saucy smile.
An elevator opened, filled with people.
Their little party pressed inside and faced front.
With Harrison on Rio’s right, Becca maintained her position to his left. As the elevator doors closed, they jostled among others.
In the tight confines, Becca again wormed her hand around Rio’s back and eased up his shirt. Her fingers closing around the grip of his Glock, she slid it from his pants and held it close to her side. It disappeared into the folds of her sweater, still hung over her arm.
On the seventh floor, the elevator pinged and the doors opened. They stepped off, and behind them the doors whooshed closed. A long hallway stretched out. It was empty.
Rio scanned the area. With Harrison’s pistol still rammed in his wound, he could do little. He needed Becca to get him the weapon.
Had Paxton’s men followed them up? Where the fuck were they? If Harrison managed to get Rio and Becca into his locked hotel room, it would be too late. Harrison was bent on murder.
He needed his Glock.
Beside him, Becca had her hand down her shoulder bag and seemed to be scrounging around the bottom for something. He tried to catch her eye but she was looking into her bag. At the closed door, Harrison stopped and fished out a room card.
Alarm bells clanging, Rio knew they could not go into the enclosed place. Not with him bleeding and weakened, and absolutely not with Becca. In this state, he wouldn’t be able to physically overwhelm Harrison. Although an older man now, Harrison had been a Green Beret. He knew nasty moves they didn’t teach at boot camp or academy. His grip on Rio was strong, punishing. The pistol he kept shoved into his wound was agonizing, and kept him immobile. Harrison was no fool, and he’d be expecting Rio to try something.
Becca chose that moment to act.